In Letters of Smoke
by sonicwaffles
Summary: In which Merlin is unexpectedly a girl, Arthur is secretly quite romantic, and destiny is a lot more complicated than anyone imagined.
1. Body of a Woman

When he looks back on this, Merlin will one day concede that they were probably asking for trouble. Yes, they should have taken a number of Arthur's knights with them, and no, they shouldn't have been surprised when the witch they're hunting finds them first.

But Arthur is not to be denied, and if his announcement that they were going witch-hunting together made Merlin want to throw up or pass out or any variation thereupon, he certainly doesn't know it.

She's radiant, a vision in robes of white, with hair the colour of corn silk that falls to her waist and skin so pale it seems almost translucent. They came across her on the path reclining idylly against a tree, a show of rainbow fireworks dancing in her palm as she smiles serenely up at Arthur. Merlin knows instantly, _instantly, _that she's nothing but bad news. Not that he'd assume her to be evil, but there's a glint of something in her eye that he doesn't trust.

"Witch, you are under arrest by order of King Uther for the crime of sorcery" Arthur sits tall upon his hunting horse, a proud animal who prances restlessly on the spot, chestnut coat gleaming in the afternoon sunshine. He looks the perfect prince, strong and noble and beautiful and there's a deep pang in Merlin's chest at the image of all that perfection that will never be his.

"How well you make me laugh, Prince Arthur of Camelot" As if to prove just that point, she lets out a giggle, high and impossibly sweet. "You shall not arrest me now, or ever" Her palm snaps shut, the lights that had danced in it blinking out in a heartbeat. Merlin shudders at the metallic hiss as Arthur unsheathes his sword.

"Then I shall run you through where you stand" He's hissing menacingly, sword waving dangerously as he dismounts from his horse and stalks towards the witch. Merlin, having fallen ungracefully from his horse's back, follows behind with considerably less stealth.

"Merlin, stay back. She's dangerous" Arthur's voice is all power and authority and Merlin knows without doubt he'd do anything Arthur asks in that moment, even if it means walking to the ends of the earth and back. Or leaving Arthur to die at this woman's hands, although, _no_, he probably wouldn't do that after all.

The witch purses her lips and sits up straight, her eyes flashing gold as she stares down Arthur who instead of impaling her upon his sword without a second thought, suddenly stops and stares around himself as if confused, sword slipping from his now slack grasp.

"There now, that's better" She smiles once more and snaps her fingers. "Now pay attention to me" Merlin feels his heart pounding in his chest, equal parts terror and excitement as Arthur slowly raises his head to stare defiantly at the witch. His body may be uninterested in taking another step, but his mind is keen as ever.

"What is your business here?" She leans luxuriously back against the tree, spinning a throne of vines and flowers that grow up and around her, as if she queen of the forest and all that lives within but her humble servants.

"I don't intend to kill you Arthur Pendragon, if that's what you're asking. But do not think I will allow you to simply walk from this place either. You would not have hesitated to kill me, as you have killed so many of my kind. If you continue to walk along the path you have chosen, you will be nothing more than a tyrant, and no better than your father"

She raises a hand, something gold growing in her palm, swirling and flashing as it gained power. "Your heart grows cold, even now. I cannot sit idly by and let you become that man. It is not your destiny" Her gaze flickers, lands on Merlin, semi-crouched behind a small sapling. Her smile as he rises to his full height is absolutely radiant.

"_Emrys_" She breathes, like a prayer, eyes glittering with unshed tears. Never has anyone behaved this way around Merlin, and Arthur swings his head comically back and forth between them, confusion dampening the fury in his features.

"You know her?" His tone is utterly disbelieving.

"No" Merlin says, and then resigned: "Not in this life" Because he has a feeling that maybe the dragon isn't totally wrong about this destiny business, and he'd really like to read a few of these things that have supposedly been written about him.

"You have known me always" The witch says slowly, on her feet and moving towards him. "We are tied to each other, as you are tied to Arthur and he to you"

"What _on earth?_" Arthur again, and Merlin shushes him impatiently, desperate for any word the witch is willing to give. _She knows _his heart is thrumming, _she knows about our destiny_.

"A great destiny awaits you my lord" Arthur's eyes nearly boggle from his head at her formal address. "I am truly sorry that this must be my part in it" She extends her hand to Merlin's chest, moisture on her cheeks. "Perhaps you will forgive me, when you have come to understand"

The swirling golden heat in her palm burrows into Merlin's chest, his breath forced from his lungs, fire racing through his blood. His head begins to spin and he hears Arthur's cry of fury as he tumbles backwards onto the forest floor, the smell of peat filling his head before he passes out.

He does not see the witch smile sadly as she disappears.

* * *

He wakes wrapped in Arthur's cloak, the soft red material tickling his bare shoulders, a sensation of deep, terrible dread coursing over him.

"Ah you're awake Merlin" Arthur says from some feet away where there's a small fire blazing and, but for a few scratches, looks none the worse for his ordeal. Far above there are stars twinkling between the tree tops and Merlin wonders idly how long he's been out.

"Erm, any reason why I'm wrapped in your cloak?" Arthur clears his throat uncomfortably, staring at the forest floor.

"Yes, well I could hardly let you freeze, and, uh, I thought you would appreciate it, given the, uh, circumstances" Curiously, a deep blush is working its way across Arthur's cheekbones, clear even in the dim firelight.

"_What_ are you talking about?" It's cold, even under Arthur's heavy wool cloak, and he'd like nothing better to sit by the fire that looks so warm and inviting.

"Merlin, look at yourself" Arthur gestures vaguely with one hand and quickly looks away again. Merlin lifts the cloak slightly, his limbs feeling awkward and ungainly, and peers down at his body.

"I'm a-" Arthur nods.

"Yeah"

"With-"

"I know"

"And I've got-"

"I saw them"

"Arthur, I'm a _girl!_" The last word comes as a shrill cry and for the first time Merlin notices his voice has become several octaves higher. He claps a hand over his mouth, noting with horror the thick tangle of dark curls that swing heavily with every movement of his head.

"I had come to that conclusion, yes. What with the-" He waves his hand again and nods towards Merlin. "-and all"

"And when you noticed the sorceress had turned me into this, your first thought was not to hunt her down, but to preserve my _modesty_?" The voice is certainly going to take some getting used to.

"You were lying there with your shirt in tatters and those _things _bare for all and sundry to see, what was I _supposed_ to do?" Merlin scowls at Arthur and readjusts the cloak around his shoulders. No matter how annoyed he feels, Arthur is right about one or two things.

"Besides once she'd cursed you she didn't seem all that keen on hanging about for a chat!" Merlin opens his mouth only to be cut off by Arthur again. "And I already looked for a damn trail and there isn't one so stop behaving like a-" He breaks off suddenly with a look of horror.

"A girl?" Merlin sneers. "Well I've got news for you, I _am _a girl, so I'll behave like one if I want to!" He tosses his newly acquired mass of curls over his shoulder with a '_hrrmph!' _just to prove his point. Arthur pointedly ignores it.

"You can't stay on a horse at the best of times, I can't have you on an animal in that state" He muses quietly, taking in Merlin's drastically altered appearance. "You'll have to ride with me."

"What?" Merlin does not try to keep the disbelief from his new notably higher voice. Arthur stares at him pleasantly as he stomps out the fire. So much for enjoying that then.

"You heard. Now come here so we can get you on my horse" Merlin gets shakily to his feet, the cloak settling low on his bare shoulders and swirling gently around his body as he walks.

"You cannot seriously be intending to ride, at night, with me on the horse as well" He stands next to Arthur's gentle hunter and watches his own smaller horse stand placidly whilst Arthur hitches them together.

"I absolutely intend on doing that Merlin. Now do me a favour and shut up" His grin of nonchalance doesn't quite meet his eyes.

"Ready?" Arthur seizes him by the waist and swings upwards, only letting go once he's was settled upon the horse's back. He's seriously irritated to realise Arthur has placed him side-saddle, leaving him nothing to grip in the event he begins to slide off again, as he is indeed doing.

In another moment however, Arthur is behind him on the soft leather and with reins in one hand, wraps protectively around Merlin, presumably to keep him from falling.

"How long do you expect this to take?" He asked as Arthur nudged the horse into a walk. It's an entirely different experience sitting sideways, his body forced to move in different ways to keep balance.

"A day perhaps" Arthur replies stiffly. Merlin is sitting up straight, rocking uncomfortably against the horse's neck, his fingers desperately wound in the animal's mane.

"For gods sake Merlin would you relax? You're stiff as a plank of wood!" Arthur pulls him into his chest, forcing Merlin to nestle his head against his hauberk. "I don't enjoy this any more than you do" He adds, seemingly for good measure.

* * *

They do indeed ride through the night, stopping only when Merlin insists lest he wet himself on Arthur's horse, and even then only because Arthur didn't wish to subject his finest hunter to such indignity. Merlin spent a suspiciously long time discovering the logistics of his new body, something which Arthur isn't sure he finds revolting or fascinating.

He is thankfully used to having women side-saddle upon his horse and therefore can manipulate Merlin into a comfortable position when he falls asleep, curled slightly into Arthur, cascade of dark curls tumbling over his shoulder and framing his face.

The thing is, he makes a really pretty girl. He's still Merlin of course, naive and useless and a little bit stupid, and he still has too-pale skin and sticky-out ears with knobbly knees and elbows, but a small part of Arthur always found those things endearing rather than annoying. Now was no exception.

"Stop staring at me" Merlin murmurs, blinking his large blue eyes slowly and gazing sleepily up at Arthur. He snorts in response.

"Don't flatter yourself Merlin. I happened to be looking in your general direction while I contemplated princely things you would _never _understand" He smiles smugly. The corner of Merlin's lips rise and he closes his eyes once more.

"Even if I _was _staring, it's not like I fancy you or anything-"

"I never said you did" Merlin interjects, eyes still closed. _Those lips really are quite lovely_ Arthur thinks, careful not to let any such thoughts tumble over his own.

"-it's just weird, you being a girl-" Merlin gives a burst of laughter, a higher and sweeter sound than Arthur's accustomed to. It almost makes his chest ache. Almost.

"You're telling me."

"-so you can't blame me if I look. You would, if it were the other way around" He shudders, and adds for good measure: "But I'd be a beautiful girl anyway, so _you _probably _would _fancy me."

"Mmmm" Merlin gives a soft sigh and burrows against Arthur's chest.

* * *

Of all the moments in Merlin's life he wishes to forget, riding through Camelot astride Arthur's horse is definitely in the top ten. It seems everywhere he looks people stare back with curiosity and he realised too late that to them it must seem as if Arthur has brought home a maiden from his travels. He shudders at the thought, staying silent as Arthur helps him dismount and following quietly as the prince strides quickly towards the throne room.

To say Uther is displeased is an understatement.

"You mean to tell me this young lady is your idiot manservant?" He looks carefully at Merlin. "Impossible."

"It's true" Merlin ventures softly, feeling very much like bug to be squashed under the kings intense gaze. "What reason would we have to lie?"

"She has a look of that boy. Perhaps what you say is true" Uther speaks as if Merlin does not exist. It is, he realises, the way many of the noblemen of Camelot speak of women. As objects and not people. The harsh reality of his situation begins to dawn.

"We came upon the witch in the forest. She intended to curse me, but Merlin offered himself in my place. He showed great courage" Merlin frowns at Arthur's story. He recalls things rather differently, but knows better than to argue.

"And what of the witch?"

"She escaped. I searched the forest and found no trace" Arthur bows his head in humility. His father will no doubt lecture him later, and Merlin is sure to face the brunt of his anger when he returns. He will be sure however, to thank Arthur as soon as possible, no matter how great his fury.

"Very well. Let us see if you speak the truth of your manservant" Uther's face speaks volumes. If Arthur is telling the truth, as he indeed is, he will be punished for allowing magic to be performed so close to his person and the culprit to escape. If he lies, he will be punished not only for the lie itself but also for besmirching his name by bringing home an unknown maiden.

"You" Uther acknowledges Merlin directly for the first time. "Stand in front of the mirror there" If anyone thinks it was odd that a man who despises magic as much as Uther would have such an intensely magical object in his possession, they quickly change their tune upon discovering what the mirror does. Instead of reflecting a person as they look, it shows them as they truly are. For this reason it is kept shrouded at all times. The true nature of many is best left secret.

Merlin has never seen a person stand in front of this mirror, never watched as the cloth is pulled back with a billow of dust and a rich golden frame enclosing a perfect round mirror revealed. It is daunting to have to do so whilst in front of it. He is not afraid however, of what the mirror will show.

His reflection is as it always is. Behind him, Arthur is also reflected, and Merlin sees the worry creased on his face. He still manages to look golden and radiant regardless and Merlin feels a great surge of admiration for his perfect untouchable prince.

After some time and some sort of signal Merlin doesn't see nor is aware has even been made, the cloth is hauled back over the mirror and Uther sits heavily in his chair.

"You may keep your manservant" He announces brusquely and Merlin feels a completely unexpected rush of happiness rise inside his chest. Up until that moment he hasn't considered that he can't be Arthur's manservant anymore, or that he won't be allowed to stay in his little room, or help Gaius, or any of those other things he's always hated but really secretly enjoyed.

"I trust you will not disgrace the name of Pendragon" Uther says with a smirk, back to speaking as if Merlin does not exist at all, and Arthur gives the briefest of nods and stares determinedly at the wall. Take your maidservant to your bed if you will, but make it worth her while to stay silent about it. Merlin shivers, mostly at the thought Arthur might _want _to take him to bed in the first place. It is not a shiver of fear or disgust.

"See that she visits the Lady Morgana's maidservant and finds some appropriate attire. I wish to speak to you alone" Uther gives Merlin the briefest of glances and then spits "Are you stupid? I said leave!" and Merlin makes a movement somewhere between a bow and a curtsey and quietly flees the room.

He does not see Arthur's gaze follow his every step, nor does Arthur intend that he do.

* * *

Gwen and Morgana do not believed him. Not at first.

It takes several tense minutes, a rundown of the story twice, and Merlin's frustrated hiss of "_I know about your magic Morgana!"_ to finally convince them, but they have gleefully taken to playing dress-up with him once introductions are out of the way.

"I absolutely cannot wear that Morgana. I'm a servant!" Morgana pouts over the deep blue dress she holds aloft.

"Keep it anyway. I don't wear it anymore and you should have at least one"

"What on earth for?" He cries in exasperation, and Morgana just smiles and tosses it on top of the pile.

"You never know" She says, and he senses she's drawn the conversation to a close, regardless of his protests otherwise.

Gwen is rather more realistic about his attire and finds several dresses that only need a little mending to be wearable and keep his modesty intact. She also very kindly provides him with undergarments, of which there are several and he blanches in horror at the idea of having to wear them all at once.

He does at one point make the mistake of asking about a small fold of cloth on top of the pile and then spends ten minutes blazing red as Morgana gives a frank and unapologetic lecture on female anatomy. Girls are horrible, he decides, and he hates being one, and he really wants his own body back, thank you very much.

"We have to teach you how to fix your hair too. You can't leave it like that" Gwen says as he wallows in his on self pity. She sits on a low stool mending various garments so they might be suitable for use. Merlin suspects many have been taken from her own scant wardrobe and is tremendously grateful for this. He tells her as such and she smiles sweetly, even when she pricks a finger.

Morgana forces him in front of her dressing table and he sees himself in the mirror as she begins to work her way through the tangle of hair cascading down his back.

"I'm _pretty_" He murmurs softly, and Morgana behind him smirks knowingly.

"You're not _pretty_ Merlin, you're _ravishing" _She winks.

He looks much the same, all pale skin and dark hair, blue eyes and sharp angles, and yet somehow changed. There is beauty in this face, an elfin charm that he does not find altogether unappealing. Morgana twists his hair into a thick braid and curls it into a bun at the base of his neck, and he finally feels a little more like himself for the first time since this whole business started.

"Don't worry so much, Arthur won't rest until you're back to normal" She whispers in his ear and smiles when he stares at her in confusion.

"You really are a little bit stupid sometimes aren't you?" Gwen laughs, and it isn't an insult, not at all.

Merlin yawns, suddenly wishing for his little bed in his little room and the blessed relief of sleep. Gwen holds a dress of palest pink before her for a moment before nodding and announcing it mended to the standards of a queen. Merlin flushes.

"Off with you now" Morgana says, sounding all the much like his mother and ushers him out the door with his basket of newly acquired clothes and a kiss dropped on one cheek.

On the top of the pile is Arthur's cloak, folded neatly, the golden dragon gleaming in the lantern light. He wonders for a moment if Arthur expects him tonight, to dress him for bed and douse his candles. Perhaps Uther is still in a pique of rage and Arthur won't make it to his rooms until it is nearly morning.

Merlin decides he will go without for a night. He suspects Arthur will not be _too _upset.


	2. Thinking, Tangling Shadows

Morning dawns on Camelot, bright and full of promise, and Merlin wakes with a cry of despair.

He arrives in at Arthur''s chambers with an air of deep resignation. This is partly due to the irritation of wearing a dress and the hair and the discomfort that three layers of underthings brings, but also a quiet fear that Arthur may have changed his mind during the night and he might just be out of a job.

Arthur is still asleep, curled into a ball and nestled under the various furs and quilts that adorn his bed. Probably, Merlin reflects, he wouldn't need so many if only he slept with a shirt on a little more often. Then again, it is no hardship for Merlin to see Arthur in a state of undress so early in the morning.

"Breakfast!" A sliver of blue appears at the edge of Arthur's eyelids and his hands fight their way from the nest of covers to claw at his face.

"I was hoping it was a dream" He mumbles darkly from behind splayed fingers and Merlin sighs. He had rather been hoping the same.

"I should be so lucky" He says darkly as Arthur struggles onto his elbows to eye him wearily.

"You know, you're not totally hideous" He says after a few moments, eyes roaming to the plate of fruit and meat waiting on the table. He seems to be on the verge of saying something more, and Merlin pauses to gaze back at him, hands buried amongst the wool and linens of Arthur's wardrobe.

But Arthur just shrugs and smiles affably and the moment slips away. Merlin can hear the prince rise, feet dragging on the bare wooden floor as he moves towards the table, still heavy with sleep.

"Was that a compliment sire?" Merlin smirks, does not let any of his surprise leak through his carefully composed exterior, because it _is_ the closest thing to a compliment Arthur has ever given him.

"Don't get used to it" Arthur responds through a mouthful of ham. "I say that to all the girls" As cruel as the remark is supposed to be, Arthur's voice is not as sharp as he might have intended, and betrays a hint of something else below the surface.

"Well, it's a wonder you don't have them simply throwing themselves at you all the time" Merlin murmurs, unimpressed, and Arthur looks at him, wounded.

"Are you implying I'm somehow lacking?" He raises himself up to his full height, looking very princely indeed, and says "I'll have you know I could have anyone I desired, and they would consider it nothing less than an _honour_"

"Of course sire" Merlin agrees absently, laying out Arthur's clothes.

"I could have _you _even, if I wanted. " Arthur's tone is light and teasing and Merlin can't let that one go easily.

"You most certainly could _not" _He responds, folding his arms over his chest. "You won't be getting anywhere near _my _honour" And he narrows his eyes and looks as put-out as possible. Arthur snorts through his mouthful of cheese, and Merlin thinks _damn _because that's another thing about this body he never stopped to consider.

"As illuminating as this has been, I have work to do"

"Have one of the stable boys muck out today" Arthur says, obviously fighting a blush. "It's not, you know, women's work"

"Thank you sire" Merlin says, and he can't help but note the way Arthur has his head bent but peers through his eyelashes. The silence stretches but it isn't uncomfortable until-

"_MERLIN!" _Merlin nearly falls over as the voice roars in his head. He's never quite prepared for the dragon's voice, so loud it's almost painful, and his eyes are watering as he moves towards the door.

Arthur's head hits the table the second Merlin is out of earshot.

* * *

The dragon is shaking with laughter, long and loud and Merlin wonders how the whole damn castle haven't arrived yet demanding to know about the noise. Every single one of his hundreds of razor sharp teeth glint in the torchlight and Merlin feels very small indeed.

"Any chance you know how to fix it?" He asks, not at all certain he wants to know the answer. The dragon leans in closely, one huge golden eye staring intensely at Merlin.

"The enchantment cannot be undone-" Merlin interrupts with a cry of despair and the dragon gives him the kind of look that suggests a swift death if he doesn't close his mouth right this instant.

"-by any magic you know" He finishes and Merlin hiccups and looks politely confused.

"It is very powerful, not easily reversed. Only the one who placed the enchantment has the power to undo it again" He watches stoically as Merlin lets out a long groan of unhappiness.

"I don't suppose you'd have any idea why anyone would want me like this?" He asks, indicating to his very feminine body and raising an eyebrow. The dragon gives the closest thing he has to a smile.

"As I have told you before young warlock, there is much written about you that you have yet to read" Merlin gets the feeling he's missing something important in this exchange, but he isn't sure, and the dragon has never exactly been forthcoming about these things.

* * *

Arthur calls for a bath that night and much to Merlin's surprise enlists two of the kitchen hands to bring the water to his rooms. It is of course stone cold, but Merlin remedies that quickly enough, even whilst forcing himself to use the traditional method rather than magic.

"Merlin what _are_ you doing?" Arthur asks, though it is perfectly obvious Merlin is laying out his towels and the soft woolen leggings Arthur favours sleeping in.

"Attending to my duties, sire. Or would you prefer I let you do everything yourself?" He does nothing to mask the tired irritation in his voice. Arthur looks stunned for a long moment and then shrugs his shirt off, throwing it at Merlin with a cocky grin. The smell of musk fills Merlin's head for a moment as he fails to catch the shirt and has it land upon his face instead before he manages to claw it away, holding it at arms length.

He supposes he should be pleased that Arthur still sees him underneath the feminine curves and breasts and higher voice. Enough to throw clothing at him anyway, but Arthur has never really been too considerate of anyone when it comes to his dirty laundry.

"You can go now" Arthur says and Merlin freezes in confusion because usually he'd be required to assist Arthur bathe, along with helping him dress once he's finished. It seems to Merlin the nobles make the bathing ritual fairly complicated with all the soaps and powders and oils and Arthur never keeps still long enough to have any of them applied properly, but he always smells much better by the end, which is probably what counts anyway.

"Good night sire" He mumbles, and Arthur is already sliding into the bath and making noises of absolute bliss as the hot water soothes his aching muscles. His eyes flicker closed, head lolling against the edge of the tub, wet toes peeking at the other side.

"Oh, and be sure to have my things packed, I ride at noon tomorrow" He says, as if picking up a half-finished conversation from moments earlier.

"Ride where?" Merlin asks foolishly, knowing he is to go with precious little sleep if both their bags are to be packed tonight.

"_To hunt the witch_ Merlin" Arthur says, exasperated, and his eyes are open now, impossibly bright in the candle lit chamber. "You will stay here" His tone is firm and final, but it isn't the usual gruff order that Merlin ignores with barely a second thought. There is something different about it, something that suggests Arthur does this only to keep Merlin safe, protected.

"Yes my lord" Merlin says quietly and suddenly Arthur extends a hand towards him, wet and warm and says "Promise me you won't follow?" And there's really no other choice.

"I promise" He curls his fingers around Arthur's, and they hold for a moment, before the warmth of Arthur's hand slips away and Merlin feels like part of himself has gone missing, like the brief touch was everything in the world and his chest is too small to possibly contain the beating of his heart.

But the moment is gone, and Arthur has leant back in his bath, contented smile playing at his lips. Merlin lets himself out silently and slips away to his room.

* * *

Rain is beating at the windows when Merlin wakes the next morning, the sky grey and foreboding, and even as he saddles Arthur's horse it shows no signs of relenting.

Arthur spares Merlin a moment in the stables before he rides, skin already damp after walking from the castle, and Merlin's hair curls in the rain, a frizzy dark halo around his too-pale face.

"Just look after yourself okay?" He asks, and Merlin nods, tries not to sink into the awkward half-hug Arthur gives before he strides out of the stables. Lightning cracks across the sky.

So Arthur rides out in the rain, cold and wet and proud, back straight and head held high, fringe plastered against his forehead and stuck in his eyes. The rain abates briefly, but as Arthur reaches the crest of the first hill and something twinges in Merlin's chest, it pours down again, harder than before.

Gaius is not impressed when Merlin appears, sodden and miserable several hours later. He doesn't tell and Gaius doesn't ask, but he can tell by the look on the old man's face he has no secrets here. If he watched Arthur and his knights ride away until they were nothing but tiny red smudges against the grey horizon, and for another hour beyond that, then Gaius knows, and kindly says nothing.

Because really, Merlin could do without the lecture today. He doesn't feel sorry for himself too often, as long as he has food to fill his belly and a blanket to sleep under he's happy, but this is different, and it hasn't just been since he was enchanted. It's been much, much longer than that, perhaps from the first moment he laid eyes on Arthur, and it's harder and harder to ignore.

He doesn't think Arthur even _knows. _He's so wrapped up in Guinevere, pulled into her orbit like most men who meet her, as if she has some invisible, inexplicable pull. She consistently turns Arthur away, and Merlin isn't certain if it's because she knows he can never be allowed to love her as she needs, or if she simply loves another more. Gwen has always had an open heart, but when it comes to Arthur she's a mystery wrapped in an enigma.

But Merlin isn't jealous of her, no. He catches her sometimes, at a feast or during a tourney, with the sad smile on her face and as their eyes meet she'll cast him a look that says _you too huh? _And he's never understood quite why.

* * *

He sleeps away the first few days of Arthur's absence, and Gaius tells everyone he is ill, which isn't a lie, not really. Eventually the terrible heartsickness fades and he finds he can do his chores and and joke with Gwen and Morgana and help Gaius grind herbs, and get through a whole day without thinking of Arthur. He has pushed aside the notion that he might love the prince, it sounds far too much like something a traveling minstrel might sing about and Merlin would rather not be the subject of one of those bawdy songs.

The rain still pours steadily and Morgana sighs as she gazes out the window at the dreary scene outside.

"Will this rain ever end?" She says unhappily and Merlin looks up from the tangle of thread in his hands to give her a fleeting look of sympathy. Morgana does not enjoy being trapped inside, likes needlework even less, which is probably why Gwen is quietly stitching for her, a great swirling mess of blues and reds that doesn't look quite like anything to Merlin.

"Shall I help you with that?" Gwen asks Merlin and he's grateful as she slowly winds the thread off his fingers and back onto the spool, because needlework is just one more thing he has no talent for.

"Arthur returns soon" Morgana's voice is low and pitches and she's staring blindly out the window, chin resting on one hand and Merlin realises she's daydreaming. With Morgana a dream is never just a dream.

"A week from tomorrow-" Her brow wrinkles, eyes focusing and turning to face Merlin "-Oh!" And she smiles.

"Be sure to have a bath ready for his return" She says, all-knowing and Merlin is glad her dreams have not been so terrible lately. "And wear the lavender, he likes that one" All Merlin can do is gape at her.

"Are you _actually?" _His voice is incredulous and she laughs, "Yes Merlin, I am _actually_" and shoos him from her chambers.

Outside the rain suddenly turns to snow.


	3. Leaning Into the Afternoons

Merlin dreams of Arthur.

The chill of winter is sneaking into the castle, making itself known as rain lashes against the windows and cold draughts whisper under doors. Merlin pilfers one of the furs from Arthur's bed, curls warm and comfortable under it at night, the smell of Arthur clinging stubbornly to the thick pelt.

Gaius scolds him for stealing from his master, tells him in no uncertain terms what the punishment will be if he is ever found out, and Merlin points out he already lives with an axe hanging over his head, and he will absolutely return the fur before Arthur ever discovers it's missing.

Gaius gives him a weary smile, pats his shoulder comfortingly. _Be careful with that one._

_

* * *

_

The days are bleeding into each other, and Arthur is tired. The rain drips steadily from the forest canopy onto the makeshift tent and Arthur wonders if he shall ever see the sun again. The snow that coated the ground a few days earlier has long since melted and the ground he lies on is muddy and soft.

They have seen neither hide nor hair of the witch, pursued her through the hearsay of villagers and gossips in taverns. Arthur has been taught never to give in, but the rain is torrential and the knights sick for home. They have turned back to Camelot, humiliated and defeated.

"You are sorely missed Prince Arthur" He startles at the voice, on his feet with his sword in hand in moments, only to find he has no strength in his arm to lift it.

"You have been searching for me" The voice says quietly, low and rasping and so, so tired. "But I have found you instead" A warm glow fills the tent, the witch revealed sitting cross-legged but a foot from his bed roll.

She is different from his memory, hair ragged and matted, cropped around her ears and caked with mud. Her eyes are no longer brightest green but murky dull grey, her clothes in tatters, her limbs so thin and tiny it is a wonder she can move at all. She looks like a child, lost and hungry. In her hand the glow of magic struggles to stay alight.

"You see what has become of me, what price I am forced to pay?" There is no sharpness in her voice, only sad resignation, and he feels pity for her, despite what she has done.

"I don't understand" He says, sitting down opposite her. There is no danger here, she has barely enough left in her to speak.

"It was a dark magic, to change the very nature of one's being, a price must be paid" There's an itch in Arthur to comfort her, and he has a hand halfway raised before he stops himself.

"You _cursed _him!" He hisses, "You deserve it." She bows her head, acquiescent.

"I saw the king you would become, and the land that would flourish before you" Her voice fills with emotion. "and I saw you betrayed, I saw you _murdered!" _Arthur's chest tightens, a future laid before him that is both wonderful and terrible.

"Why do you tell me this?" The anger rings clear in his voice.

"The enchantment is strong, but its hold is not permanent. It will last no longer than midsummer" She closes her eyes, deep purple rings against her pale skin.

"Merlin will be free? Exactly as he was?" She nods.

"He is strong, I cannot hold the enchantment upon him. Even now he fights to return to his true form" Arthur senses her fear. She's afraid, so afraid of Merlin, afraid of what she's done to him, afraid of what she's done to herself.

"You didn't foresee this" He murmurs and her eyes are on his, bright with tears.

"I'm dying" She struggles out, "All for a better world" And she laughs, high and cruel, ending on a wet, pained cough. "He's killing me!" She's almost hysterical, shaking, the light flickering erratically in her palm.

"How can Merlin be killing you?" He asks unthinkingly and her eyes go wide, mouth agape.

"You don't know, and I so nearly- no, no!" She's on her feet in seconds, fighting her way from the tent, splashing away through the muddy undergrowth and he chases her blindly, wet branches stinging his face, sword aloft.

Luckily for Arthur, and unluckily for the witch, she tires quickly, falling onto the wet ground and trembling, pathetic and soaked to the skin.

"You will explain yourself" He spits and the fury is washing over him, like the rain washing over his skin, dripping from his eyelashes and nose and lips. She shivers at his sword point.

"He is magic" She whispers, the words almost lost to the incessant pounding of rain. They mean nothing to Arthur.

"Lies" He hisses, suddenly incensed that she would even dare try to say such things about Merlin, after what she's done. It is one thing to harm him, another entirely to taint his honour in addition.

"You will tell the truth to me witch" The tip of his sword rests above her heart and Arthur would not hesitate to run her through, knows he is capable of ending her wretched life without a thought.

"I speak the truth my lord! You may kill me but-" She chokes back a terrified sob, "-but it will not make it any less so" She gazes up with fearful eyes, and something in her voice is certain, defiant.

"Give me reason not to kill you" He bites out, because the temptation is there, pulling and niggling and even for all she's done he doesn't actually wish to kill her. There is too much blood on his hands already, he can never make amends for all the lives his father has taken, does not wish to needlessly add one more to the number.

She stays resolutely silent, stares back with eyes that say _go on, _and _I dare you_ and it's a good enough reason as any to drop his sword and fall to his knees in the mud.

"What the hell?" He gasps, unsteady. "_What the hell?" _because his head _hurts _and his chest _aches _and how the hell did he end up in the rain threatening this pathetic creature? And-

Magic. Merlin is magic. Or at least that's what the witch wants him to believe, and it would be easy, effortlessly easy to just slot this piece of information into what he knows about Merlin and leave it at that. Because Merlin could be a sorcerer, he really could, but Arthur has never been fond of the easy route.

"He isn't" He tells himself, and again, firmer; "Merlin isn't a sorcerer" And he believes it too.

"You are the once and future king and he will stand at your side, the most trusted, the most revered-" The witch rasps, "-you should not be afraid to ask for what you want." He looks up at her and she smiles, the same serene smile of dazzling brilliance she gave Merlin in this very same forest. Something flickers in her eyes and Arthur collapses onto the wet ground with a dull thump.

He wakes in the tent, head bruised and tender and his memory is patchy, with nothing but searing stretches of pain between fragments of the previous night.

_Midsummer_, he thinks, _I must do it before midsummer,_ which would be wonderful, if he only knew what _it _was.

* * *

Arthur thinks about love.

The rain has mostly cleared and Camelot is almost in sight, the knights around him chattering excitedly about their homecoming. They have every right to it, after near a month wet on horseback, to long for a warm bed and a dry nights sleep. Sir Lucan's voice rises above the rest as he wonders whether he has been blessed with a son or daughter and Arthur remembers his wife was with child when they left. He hopes all has gone well in their absence, a future knight or lady of Camelot waiting for their arrival.

There will be no such happiness waiting for Arthur. He thinks of love, of the people who wait anxiously for his return.

His father, whom he loves and hates in equal measure, who will look upon him with anger and disappointment, who will rant and storm about the evils of sorcery until he is red in the face and refuses to speak to Arthur for many days. It is a great tragedy of the world that all of Arthur's love for his mother must be through the filter of his father, who is not a father, and never has been. She is nothing but a creature of myth and legend, and that is how he loves her, as all that is left of her existence in this world.

He thinks of Morgana, who is his sister in all but name, and he knows her beautific smile, the warm curve of her body as she presses against him and whispers _you're home_ over and over until she believes it. She is something to look forward to, her sharp wit and sharper tongue, and her only flaw is that she gives her love so freely, that she does not make him work for it, and Arthur cannot yet appreciate the things he has not earned.

Guinevere will bow her head in acquiescence and murmur _sire _and _my lord _and try to hide her smile of relief. Arthur will see it, Arthur sees everything Gwen does. He does not know how long he has loved her, has no recollection of the hour or moment he began, only that he did not and then he did. He would make her his princess, would his father allow it, would Gwen allow it, and he knows she would be loved, and he would love her wholly and without reserve for as long as she would let him. He knows they would be good together, feels the very truth of it deep in his core, the frantic urging that threatens to consume him sometimes, the desperate want for her and no other.

Except, that isn't quite true.

Because now he thinks of Merlin, and he isn't sure what to think. It feels like a betrayal, that he hasn't helped Merlin, that he must remain trapped in a body that isn't his own until Arthur figures out how to break the spell. Because Arthur _will _figure it owes Merlin that at least. Because though he would never admit to feeling anything like love for his servant, he is very fond of him, in an odd way. In another life they could have been friends, were Arthur not prince and Merlin not, whatever it is that Merlin is, because he still hasn't quite figured that out just yet.

He doesn't think Merlin _will _be upset though, even if he has every right to be. No, Merlin is sure to do something dreadfully inappropriate like hug Arthur and talk non-stop like a fool and smile until his cheeks are flushed with the effort of it. Merlin will run across the courtyard in one of those ridiculous dresses that really doesn't suit him at all, hair falling loose and stinging his face. Merlin will tease and taunt Arthur for going on a wild goose chase when he's really well within rights to scream and rage and hate with everything he has.

Because Arthur knows with complete conviction, that Merlin will have missed him most of all. That he has probably spent half his nights passed out in Arthur's bed, or pilfering food from the kitchens for breakfasts Arthur hasn't eaten. And it might just be Merlins way of expressing some sort of misguided affection he has for Arthur, which makes it a crying shame that Arthur will have to throw him in the stocks if ever he confirms his suspicions.

The bulk of Camelot rises from the hills, the sunlight finally fighting its way through the clouds and bathing the city in gold, shining and perfect. There is a murmur from the knights behind Arthur, the gods are smiling down upon them, not all is lost.

_Yes, _Arthur thinks, as they enter the courtyard and a figure with waves of dark hair and clad in a dress of lavender races down the steps towards them, smiling with relief. _Yes._

Merlins footsteps are light, the _swish swish _of his skirts a whisper against the cobblestones of the yard. Arthur watches and feels as if he has been winded, and he sees stars for a moment as he struggles for breath against the frantic racing of his pulse.

Merlin arrives at his side and curtsies deeply, having obviously practiced in Arthur's absence. "Welcome home my lord" His voice is high, thick with barely suppressed emotion, hitched breath matching the tempo of Arthur's heart, fluttering behind his breast bone like a frightened bird.

In time Arthur will look back and understand what this means. For now he is blessedly oblivious.

* * *

_A/N:_

_An enormous big thank you to everyone who has left a review. I hope I can deliver something you'll all enjoy!_

_I'm also going to recommend one of my favourite poets, Pablo Neruda, from whose work I have taken my titles, and indeed provided much of the inspiration for this fic in the first place. His poetry has a lovely flowing quality that definitely puts me in mind of Camelot and the world in those times._


	4. Wrong With You, With Us

Uther does not greet Arthur in the manner of a father greeting a son. He shows no signs of having missed him, no relief at his safe homecoming. If the sharp slap he delivers to Arthur's cheek is anything to go by, Uther is not pleased to see his son at all.

"My lord" Arthur mumbles, face flushed with colour. He doesn't raise his head, knows how great and terrible Uther's fury must be, that a slap will be the least of his troubles if he upsets his father further.

"You return empty-handed" The king says, quietly, evenly. "Where is the witch I was promised?" Arthur can hear the barely-restrained anger lurking beneath the surface, bites back his reply. _I promised _you _nothing_.

"We found no witch" He says after some moments, his own voice ragged and weary. "Nor any trace of her. Had I not seen her with my own eyes I would doubt she existed at all"

"Indeed" Uther responds.

"I am sorry to have disappointed you father-" Arthur begins, hisses through his teeth as the second blow lands upon skin already stinging from the first. "- It won't happen again"

Uther falls heavily into his throne, the room silent around him.

"It will be a fine day in Camelot when you cease to disappoint me" Arthur nods, closes his eyes as Uther gives a pained sigh.

"You may leave" His tone suggests he has no desire to see Arthur again before the week is through. Arthur is not distressed by this knowledge, his mind already racing forwards, searching the castle, seeking out the person he _does _wish to see, however strange such a desire is.

Merlin.

* * *

Arthur arrives in his chambers, scowling at Merlin and muttering beneath his breath. He leaves his chain mail in a pile on the floor, clothes strewn about the room, and a trail of the same black mud that clings to his hair and skin.

Merlin tuts quietly as he runs soapy fingers through Arthur's matted hair, untangling and stripping of mud, dirty water pouring down Arthur's shoulders in dark rivulets.

"Where did you find this much mud to cover yourself in?" He asks, exasperated, barely registering Arthur's grunt of reply, which could mean "swamp" but could equally mean "none of your damn business"

He wants to say something, anything. _I missed you, _or _don't leave again, _or _you're really sort of beautiful you know._ He can't of course, knows the trouble it would cause. Whatever it is between he and Arthur remains unspoken, as it must.

Arthur's head lolls in his hands, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, chapped and pink. Merlin's fingers tighten momentarily and then fall away, Arthur's eyes opening suddenly as his head raps against the edge of the tub.

"_Ow_" He says, surprised.

"My apologies Sire" Merlin says softly, averting his eyes as Arthur rises from the water with a splash.

"I should be apologizing" Arthur's tone is wistful, his eyes searching Merlin's, blue to impossible blue. "I should have helped you" He gives a long, pained sigh, rubbing an eye with the heel of his hand, dark circles against his golden skin.

"It's not your fault. You did all you could" Arthur tumbles onto the bed as Merlin speaks, naked and wet. He curls away under the soft coverlet, a patch of damp rapidly appearing upon the pillow beneath his head.

Merlin doesn't understand the guilt, probably never will. It is Arthur's burden, and Arthur's alone, everyone else must simply ride out the storm.

* * *

Arthur wakes to the smell of soap and the rapidly forgotten remnants of a dream swirling around his head. Merlin smiles beneath dark lashes and is banished into the aether as Arthur struggles his way into the waking world, stretching and brushing against a warm weight somewhere to his left.

He opens his eyes and groans. Merlin is curled beside him, chest rising and falling rhythmically, his eyes fluttering rapidly behind pale lids. It's dark outside the windows, a wedge of moonlight falling across the stone floor and bathing the room in silver. Merlin is a creature of stories in the pale light, the angles of his face thrown into sharp relief and turning him into something otherworldy. Arthur's fingers itch to touch the shadows against his cheeks.

It isn't his fault, Arthur rationalises, that Merlin makes such an attractive woman. Anyone would understand his desire, and as Merlin is just a servant, no-one would question if he chose to act upon it. There's no danger of offended honour, it wouldn't be the first time Arthur's taken a maidservant to his bed, and certainly not the last. But Merlin is blessedly oblivious to the way the knights eyes follow him through a room, or the scandalised whispers of the other maids, is somehow ignorant of the way his awkwardness has evened out into appealing curves and fey beauty. There's something Arthur enjoys about such innocence, and he has no desire to taint it with something meaningless purely to satisfy his own need. There are more than enough willing candidates for that.

There's a bruise on Merlin's shoulder, mottled blue and purple, and the smell of soap and sweat swirls in the air around him, hair sticking to his damp forehead as he sleeps. The front of his dress has ridden down somewhat which is rather a nice view indeed, and one milky leg has found its way out of the tangle of skirts. He's real and solid and far, far more appealing than the Merlin of dreams Arthur has just woken from.

By the time Merlin stirs however, Arthur has once again surrendered to sleep, and he does not feel the warm weight leave the bed, nor hear the creak of a door open and close. He stirs and then settles once more, the first rays of sun sneaking into his rooms.

* * *

It is a few days later when Merlin and Gwen trudge through the undergrowth together searching for mushrooms and Gwen suddenly forgets herself and blurts out the first thing on her mind.

"Is Arthur courting you?" Her tone is sharp, underlaid with hurt and jealousy, which is not entirely unexpected. Merlin freezes, thrown by the sudden accusation and gapes for several moments before he can reply.

"O-of course not!" He splutters, Gwen's eyes searching his for a long moment before she apparently deems this answer acceptable and continues walking.

"No, I suppose he wouldn't" She says after a few long moments and sighs, sitting heavily on the forest floor.

"Why would you think Arthur was courting me?" Merlin asks, trying to ignore the mud seeping through his skirts. Gwen takes a long moment to compose herself, though her eyes are still wet when she finally speaks.

"They say he's sweet on you" Her voice cracks on the last word and she wipes her eyes angrily. "And I'm _not _jealous, but its not just the servants Merlin, it's everyone! The knights and all, and I thought-" She breaks off with a choked sob, and Merlin pulls her into his side and embraces her as best he can.

"He isn't sweet on me Gwen. If there's anyone he wants, it's _you_" Merlin knows this is the truth, no matter how he wishes otherwise. He does not resent Gwen her jealousy, it isn't really surprising at all, not with the quietly growing jealousy he's had for _her _the past month or so.

"If - if he was Merlin, I wouldn't be angry. I mean obviously I _would _be upset, but I don't mean-" She stops, takes a heaving breath and giggles at how tongue-tied she's become. "I wouldn't take it personally if he did"

"The only part of me Arthur _likes _are these" Merlin laughs, gesturing to his chest, and a smile flits across Gwen's face as she shakes her head.

"Arthur isn't like that. If he likes you, it's for you, not your breasts, as noticeable as they may be" She's smiling more fully now, wiping the wetness from her face with the heel of her palm.

"Must be why he likes you then" Merlin says amicably, nudging her gently with an elbow and she laughs. "You're kind and brave and one day Camelot will be proud to call you queen" Gwen laughs.

"Queen Guinevere does have a nice ring to it" She says wistfully, "but I cannot marry Arthur, and concubines cannot be queens"

"Then I have no more chance than you" Merlin whispers and they fall silent for a moment before he asks, "Is there no-one you would marry?" Gwen looks thoughtful for a moment before her cheeks flush and she looks sideways through her eyelashes at him.

"I think, if Lancelot had asked for my hand... I should have liked that" She ducks her head against her chest before hurriedly continuing. "We would not have had much, but we would have been happy" Merlin smiles so hard he thinks his face might break in half.

"Then I hope for your sake he returns soon" He says, and finds to his surprise that he really means it.


	5. Little Drops of Anguish

It has always seemed to Morgana that men are sort of pathetic. Like this business with Merlin, anyone can see Arthur is absolutely falling over himself with want for his bumbling manservant. It isn't just the newly feminine thing either, Morgana isn't always particularly observant when it comes to Arthur, but she knows -even if he doesn't- that wanting Merlin is not a new development in his life. Between all the berating and beating to a pulp every training session, Arthur is really quite stupidly fond of his manservant, and if he fancies him, well, Morgana isn't one to judge.

She does wish he would wise up and notice these things for himself though.

The way he was looking at Merlin right now for example, blonde hair falling in his eyes, lip worried between his teeth, brow furrowed in confusion. She sighs in annoyance, breaking his concentration and Arthur glares at her.

"What is it Morgana?" His voice is edged with annoyance, her look of wide-eyed innocence an unwelcome distraction.

"Please, another feast with a visiting noble? Sir so-and-so and his son, oh, have you met my ward Morgana? She's ever so pleased to make your acquaintance. _I don't think!_" This is actually fairly low on her current list of concerns, Morgana has always known her marriage is a bargaining chip, that she will eventually be betrothed to whomever can pay Uther the highest price for her hand. The lie tumbles easily from her lips though, and Arthur seems to sympathise her predicament.

"Thank the gods he doesn't have a daughter" He murmurs and she sees his eyes scan the hall for Merlin, currently standing with the other servants at the side of the room. His hair is curled into a tight knot, no doubt Guineveres work, and its unruly curls seem to have been tamed, all but for a few dark tendrils that fall over his forehead. His eyes are carefully fixed downwards, the proper picture of a servant, disappearing into the background.

But once in a while, when he knows Arthur isn't looking, Morgana sees his eyes flick upwards, searching his prince's face, his gaze falling back to the floor, unsatisfied. He cannot find what he's looking for, and she wonders somewhat sadly if he ever will.

The gossip of the court swirls around her, the newly adopted son of an aging knight, the birth of a daughter for Sir Kay, the news of a possible engagement for Morgana herself. Words blend into one another and Uther pulls her attention back to the young man who knows as well as she he will not be her husband.

* * *

Merlin lies in bed, the blackness of the night enveloping him completely as he teases the magic binding that has him trapped in this unwelcome body. It's a dark enchantment, twisted and wrong. His own magic is bright, warm and inviting, and he flicks a hand, sparks bouncing off the stone walls in a blaze of light.

A scream shatters the silence, far off and muffled through stone walls, but there's another, and another, and he is drawn to his feet as if pulled by some invisible hand.

* * *

The body against Morgana's smells of stale wine, the breath in her face nauseating. Her vision is dotted with stars as the hand around her throat tightens and she coughs as she tries to draw breath. She doubts her screams have been heard in the sleeping castle, and the bulk of the man on top of her is too much for her to fight away. His free hand has her night dress pushed to her hips, pawing at her thighs, trying to force them apart against her desperate struggles.

The visiting nobleman, drunk and furious, his son will not be married to Morgana, and should he finish what he has now started, nor shall any other man. She will be sullied completely, a worthless prize and no longer of value to Uther as a bargaining chip. Fear consumes her, burns away everything else, blinds and deafens her and leaves her limp and malleable, unable to save herself.

The pressure on her throat eases suddenly, the hand falling slack, and she gasps as air fills her burning lungs, fuzzy vision returning. The dead weight of the man lies across her bare legs, and she pushes him away, revolted by the very sight of him. His breeches are halfway down his legs, buttocks pale in the candlelight of her chambers, and she shudders at what so nearly transpired this night, wrenching her white night dress over her bare knees. She can already feel bruises forming on her thighs where his fingers dug into her flesh, and the ache is a reminder of her lucky escape. Blood oozes through the hair of the man sprawled across the foot of her bed, a splash of the same sickening red smeared across the chamberstick lying on the floor.

On the other side of the room, Merlins outstretched hand falls, the gold fading from his eyes. There is no question he wielded the makeshift weapon, no doubt that he he did so from his position beside the door. Morgana knows enough of magic to recognise another wield it.

She does not feel the tears hot on her cheeks until a sob breaks from her throat and Merlin is by her side in a moment, holding her against the safe warmth of his chest. The sound of footsteps echo in the hallway, guards voices drawing near. She buries her face in the soft cloth of Merlins nightdress, fingers clutching him close, and she finds herself uncertain if her tears are of distress of relief.

* * *

Morgana does not wish to know the punishment inflicted upon the noble for his attack. Guinevere reports that Uther has visited Merlin to bestow his thanks and acknowledge a debt of gratitude, and he is given a week off from his duties to spend as he wishes. Morgana herself is given a week of strict bed rest in order to overcome her harrowing ordeal.

On the second day following the attack, Merlin visits her. The secret of his magic hangs heavy in the silence.

"Why did you not tell me?" Her question comes as an accusation, breaking the tense air between them, causing Merlin's beautiful face to crumple. The words fall from her lips unbidden: "All this time you knew, when I was scared, when I didn't know who to turn to, didn't know who I was anymore, you _knew_"

"I'm sorry" Comes the soft reply, and it sounds like an excuse, weak in the face of her pain and the sting of betrayal.

"If Uther knew, if he had any idea..." She breathes the words, the threat razor-sharp and very real indeed. Merlins face is twisted with guilt, his hands worrying into he faded blue fabric of his dress, nails bitten down to the quick. She is not really angry with him, knows he could not tell her, knows the danger he is in now.

Knows she will keep his secret.

"I forgive you" She says quietly, Merlins startlingly blue eyes meeting hers, wide with surprise. "-on one condition." And this is how she will repay what she owes him, how she will make amends. The price may be Merlin's life, and she is willing to gamble it. He sits silently, waits for her word.

"Tell Arthur"


	6. Eyes of Mourning

Merlin smiles as a book flies past his head, held aloft by the magical storm brewing around him. Arthur's chambers are chaos, the roar of wind deafening, hair stinging his skin as it whips against his face. He feels oddly calm somehow, the magic bubbling under his fingertips, golden threads curling into the air, the shiver of power just beneath his skin. This is familiar, safe, as easy as breathing.

He lets the catch of Arthur's window free, snow flying into the room to join the swirling winds, landing in wet white heaps on the tables and bed. The cold is biting and Merlin revels in it, loving the snow every bit as much as he did as a child. This is understandably not something he often shares with the other occupants of the castle, but it is a truth about himself he cannot deny.

The door slams behind him, and Merlin gasps, hears the crash of books, candles and cutlery hitting the floor as the storm instantly vanishes. He turns slowly, taking in Arthur's shocked expression. It is better than he had hoped. There is no anger in the bright blue eyes, no accusation of betrayal falling from the slack mouth.

"I can explain!" Merlin cries, the desperation in his voice ringing in his ears. Arthur is gazing at his chambers, the mess of objects strewn across every surface, melting snow dripping loudly onto the stone floor. The hem of Merlin's dress is wet too, the cold seeping through to his skin, but this he ignores, the dress will dry whether Merlin is alive or not.

Arthur blinks slowly, nods, and walks from his chambers, completely silent.

* * *

With the crown prince missing, all hell breaks loose in Camelot. Suddenly Arthur is needed everywhere and Merlin is in a state of panic. He expected an hour at most before he was carted off to the cells, not Arthur disappearing for the better part of a day. He finally resorts to rendering two knights unconscious with a flick of his hand, which ordinarily might have concerned him but seems to make little difference now he's already revealed his magic to the prince.

* * *

Arthur is in a hay loft above stable in the lower town. It is dark, musty, and ripe with the smell of horses wafting up from below. Merlin is quite certain he wouldn't have found him at all without a little magic, which, he reflects, was probably the point of this particular hiding place.

"I should have you tied to a stake at dawn" Arthur's voice is flat and quiet. There's hay clinging to his clothes and hair and he's sitting on the wooden floor, looking every bit the little boy.

"Yes my lord" Merlin says, not particularly surprised at this. Of course he deserves such punishment, breaking the laws of Camelot, in front of the Crown Prince, no less.

"But I am not like my father" Arthur murmurs and then looks up at Merlin, his face unreadable.

"So, I'm _not_ going to be executed then?" Merlin doesn't dare to believe he's actually hearing Arthur blatantly ignore the laws he has so fiercely upheld in the past. Arthur makes a jerky movement with his head which might be a nod and Merlin allows himself a quiet sigh of relief. "But you are angry" He ventures.

Arthur raises his eyebrows in a 'you know it' expression and Merlin wonders what idea for completely awful punishments are currently running through the prince's head.

"Now" Arthur raises a finger. "Ground rules. No magic anywhere near me. No talking about magic. No using magic to do your chores. No magic to get out of training, Actually, just no magic ever." Merlin opens his mouth to speak, cut off before he can form the words. "No telling anyone about magic." Arthur stops as if a very unpleasant though has come to mind. "Oh gods, who else knows?"

Merlin stays silent and Arthur rolls his eyes. "Your mother, and Gaius obviously, anyone else?"

"Lancelot" Merlin says guiltily, ignoring the fleeting look of jealousy that flits across Arthur's features. "And, erm... Morgana" Her name comes out as a half strangled squeak.

"You have got to be kidding" Arthur's tone is disbelieving.

"She sort of made me reveal myself to you" Merlin says uncomfortably and Arthur grimaces.

"Really poor choice of words there Merlin" He's laughing though and Merlin wonders for a moment if Arthur would be all that adverse to being exposed to in other ways. He quickly thrusts the thought aside. He is _not_ in love with the prince, and Arthur is most certainly not in love with him.

"I'm supposed to be welcoming a new knight" Arthur says glumly. "Father is going to be furious" Merlin chews his lip.

"The sooner we get back, the less trouble you're going to be in" He says slowly, and Arthur sighs.

"I hate when you're right Merlin"

* * *

It is bitterly cold when they enter the castle courtyard. The servants forced to bear such miserable weather work silently, their backs turned to the wind. Arthur stops to pat a horse standing near the doors leading to the throne room.

"They're still preparing a stall my lord" The stable boy holding the horse's reigns says and Arthur nods.

"This is a fine animal" He remarks to no-one in particular and then looks at Merlin.

"You will go and clean my chambers. I must see my father" Then he turns and takes the castle steps two at a time, disappearing into the great hall. Merlin sighs, pats the horse once more, and follows him.

Much to Merlin's surprise, Arthur's chambers are already clean. To his even greater surprise, Gwen is pacing tensely back and forth. She nearly leaps from her skin at the sight of Merlin.

"You weren't with Gaius, but I knew you'd turn up here eventually. Oh and it was such a mess, I only tidied a little while I was waiting..." She looks guiltily at the floor.

"No, thank you. You've done a wonderful job" Gwen flushes. "Why were you looking for me anyway?" He asks, pulling Gwen to sit on the edge of Arthur's bed.

"The knight that arrived today, I only saw for a second, but it was him, I know it was!" Her voice is becoming distressingly high pitched.

"Calm down Gwen, it can't be all that bad" He says soothingly, stroking her hair, her breath finally evening until she can speak normally.

"It's Lancelot" She says quietly, and Merlin feels part of himself light up with happiness. Because Lancelot is wonderful, he really, really is, and Merlin's missed him, and he's a proper knight now which definitely needs congratulating. But he cannot explain why Gwen is so distressed. Her feelings for Lancelot are no secret, hell she even told Merlin herself she would have married the man. So why the panic?

"I'm happy to see him, really I am. But he's a knight and I'm just a serving girl, and all those things he said-" Her voice catches and she rubs the heel of her palm against her face. There are thoughts in her head Merlin is not privy to, and he doesn't wish to force them out before she's ready.

"I'm sorry, I'm being silly" She finally says and awkwardly hugs him before leaving the room quiet as a ghost, her skirts a soft rustle disappearing down the corridor.

Merlin contemplates her situation. She loves Arthur of course, but cannot be his princess. If Arthur were more defiant of his father perhaps, but even Merlin can see it is not to be as long as Uther sits upon the throne. Lancelot is more suitable of course, but now he is a knight and lost to her too. He will be expected to pick a noblewoman as his wife, to fulfill his duty and have children, future knights and ladies of Camelot. Merlin's heart aches for Gwen, at the unfairness of it all.

Life is cruel, and sometimes it is kind, and mostly it is very, very unexpected.

* * *

I feel like I've copped out a bit with Arthur finding out. He's just so _okay _with it! But the Arthur in my head refused to get angry with sweet little girl!Merlin, and he's about to get a whole ton of rage and angst so I'll let him out of it this time. On the upside, he's starting to come to his senses, which means yes, kisses soon :)


	7. The Colour of Distant Love

Winter tightens its grip on Camelot and Arthur, forced to abandon training for the day by yet another snowfall is feeling bored. It isn't that he can't entertain himself, its just usually inside entertainment involves Merlin, who is actually doing his job for once and is not to be disturbed _at all_. Arthur only finds this out when he drops by Gaius' chambers with the intent of bothering his manservant, only to be sternly told Merlin was busy, and no, he would not be finding out where.

Which is, in a roundabout way, how Arthur finds himself grinding herbs for Gaius. The good thing about this is how much time it gives him to think, and one problem in particular keeps coming to mind.

Lancelot.

Arthur likes Lancelot, really he does. He's as good a fighter as Arthur remembers, better even. He is steadfastly loyal and wears Camelot's colours with more pride than any knight Arthur has ever seen, dedicated to every task he is appointed and at the training grounds each morning, practicing as the sun rises.

It is only by extreme good luck he is a knight at all, as Arthur knows full well. Saving the life of Sir Bors had given him a father and he became a son in turn for the old knight who had many beautiful daughters but lamented his lack of male heirs. It had surprised Uther indeed when the young man had arrived in Camelot with papers, this time real, and once again expressed his desire to join the knights. Not even Uther could deny the son of a knight, whether by blood or not, and Lancelot had been knighted promptly and with rather less pomp than the first time he had knelt before the king.

After all, Uther was more than a little humiliated at being shown what was what by a man he'd once threatened to have killed.

None of these things are particularly distressing to Arthur, he can't find complaint in an extra knight, especially one as good as Lancelot, what with the turnover rate Camelot usually manages. What he does find distressing is said knights infatuation with Guinevere. True, Lancelot hasn't done more than make eyes at her whenever she appears at the training ground, and even that doesn't bother Arthur a great deal. A knight has no better chance of winning Gwen's hand than a prince after all.

What bothers him is his willingness to accept this development. It's that same sense of rightness that goes along with every thought of Gwen. However much he loves her, whatever she feels towards him, she and Lancelot fit together. Much as Arthur hates the idea of losing her to another man (and it _hurts_, even the thought) he knows somehow, that it's meant to be this way. Merlin would say destiny, and Arthur would roll his eyes and snort at such foolishness, but maybe, just maybe, that's what it is.

* * *

Merlin has problems of his own, which at this moment concern a rather angry dragon.

He's bellowing, thrashing his wings around and Merlin can't quite understand how this is his fault. He tries venturing this opinion and earns himself singed eyebrows for his efforts.

"I cannot see young warlock, and it is your doing! Your destiny with Arthur has all but gone. I look to your future and I see _nothing!_" Merlin balks. There's only one reason he would suddenly be lacking a future and he had rather thought Arthur was dealing quite well with the whole magic situation.

"I see no future of his either" The dragon intones, leaning rather too close for comfort, one large eye regarding Merlin coldly. "You must fix it"

"How?" Merlin asks, perhaps stupidly, because the dragon gives a snort and the world goes black with smoke for several moments.

"I cannot give you the answer, you must find it yourself" He says finally, and he's flapping away before Merlin has a chance to argue.

He settles for yelling "you enigmatic _bastard!_" at the darkened cave and kicking the closest wall.

* * *

Arthur can't help the grin that spreads across his face as Merlin storms into Gaius' chambers. It fades quickly however, when Merlin completely ignores his presence and disappears muttering into his room. There is a great deal of crashing and a few high-pitched curses before Merlin appears again, a large book in his arms.

"Merlin!" Gaius admonishes as he dumps the tome on the table, directly within Arthur's view, and indeed his reach. It is clearly very old, and very worn, and almost certainly magic. Arthur ignores the curl of discomfort in his stomach and instead goes to lock the door. It would not do to have this book seen by anyone else.

"He knows, it's fine" Merlin waves a hand idly at Gaius as he hurriedly flips through the pages. Arthur sees the flashes of gold and silver and wonders how Merlin has managed to keep this a secret so long.

"Why isn't it here?" Merlin cries and his head falls against the pages in exasperation. "I want it gone, I want it fixed!" There's a degree of hysteria in his voice Arthur has never heard before and it seems completely acceptable to scoop Merlin into his arms and hug him close while he howls nonsense into Arthur's shirt.

Gaius gives them both a very odd look and shakes his head with the air of someone who has seen this kind of thing far too many times.

"You cannot lift the curse Merlin" He says quietly and Merlin gives another outraged cry against Arthur's chest. "All we can do is wait until it has run its course" Arthur feels Merlin deflate against him, all the fight slipping his body. He can't imagine how Merlin must feel, trapped in a body that isn't his own. It is a lovely body, but it's the wrong body, and while his mind knows that, Arthur's body doesn't, as evidenced by its sudden interest in the curves pressed against it.

Thankfully Merlin is too far gone to notice any of these things and he allows himself to be extracted from Arthur's hold and led to his rooms where Gaius wastes no time giving him a rather unpleasant looking (and tasting, by Merlin's expression) draught which has him asleep in no time.

"He'll wake in a few hours. I'm sorry you had to see that sire" Arthur blushes, immediately unsure as to why he has done so.

"Does that happen often?" Gaius sighs, weary.

"Occasionally. He is under a great deal of stress you understand. Not just his own either I'm afraid" Arthur cocks his head in confusion.

"It takes a great deal of power to change a persons physical form. Even more so when that person has power of their own. Merlin is strong, his magic fights against the bond that keeps him in this form" Arthur nods, suppressing the discomfort he feels whenever Merlin and magic are mentioned in a sentence together. he is disconcerted by how easy it has become.

"And if he breaks it?" Another weary sigh.

"He will change back. But it is hard to recover from a broken curse. He will experience far more pain than if it were simply lifted" Arthur blanches, momentarily consumed by the distress he feels at the idea of Merlin's pain.

"And the witch? What will become of her, if the curse is broken?" Gaius shifts uncomfortably.

"She would die" He pauses for a long moment, then continues, quiet and even, "Perhaps she deserves such a fate. Certainly she underestimated his power when she cast the spell. She should never have bound herself to someone so powerful"

A painful flash of memory streaks through Arthur's mind and for a moment he's disarmed by the sting as the magic that had kept it hidden from him burns away. He remembers a meeting in tent, in the mud and the rain and the way the witch had spoken to him.

"She never underestimated him. She knew how strong he was, she knew she was going to die and she did it anyway" Gaius looks alarmed.

"Why would anyone do such a thing?" Arthur shakes his head.

"I don't know" They are both silent for a very long time.

* * *

The dragon is larger than he remembers, looking at him with the reptilian equivalent of amusement. He scowls back.

"It has been a long time since I have seen you, young Pendragon" The voice is larger than he remembers too, a deep vibration in his chest that steals his breath. For a moment he is six years old again, at his fathers side, staring up in fear and fascination at this strange beast imprisoned beneath the castle.

"I need help" He says, only slightly disconcerted by the large teeth glinting in the torchlight.

"I cannot lift the enchantment" The dragon says and then fixes Arthur in the gaze of one enormous yellow eye. "But that is not the purpose of your visit now is it?"

"You know magic" Arthur says quietly and the dragon laughs.

"Magic beyond your wildest imaginings young Pendragon"

Arthur remembers his fathers words, the first time he set eyes upon this creature.

_"Dragons are creatures of wisdom and magic, Arthur. But you must deal with them carefully, for they speak only in riddles and nonsense..."_

"Why did she do it?" He plunges onwards, ignoring the puffs of smoke from the still wheezing dragon. "The sorceress. Why would she cast the spell knowing it would kill her?"

"Why do any of you humans do anything?" The dragon replies. Arthur stares back, wondering if the creature plans on being anymore forthcoming than this.

"_Love, _young Pendragon. But you must know the question before you seek an answer" Enormous leathery wings unfold from the dragons back as it readies itself to fly away to whatever dark spaces it usually lurks.

"What question? What are you talking about?" He hears only laughter as the dragon disappears upwards into the darkened cavern.

* * *

Some hours later, when Arthur has finished making a mess of his chambers, and then halfheartedly cleaning it again, Merlin arrives. He is calmer than he was, and Arthur is pleased to see he's brought dinner with him, and a rather large pitcher of sweet wine.

"I'm sorry for earlier" Merlin says quietly when he's set the tray on the table and Arthur looks up in surprise.

"Merlin, it's not your fault"

"Thank you my lord" Merlin blushes, attempts a curtsy and turns to leave the room. The pitcher of wine goes with him, tipping from the table and spilling across the floor, red liquid oozing between the cracks in the stone. The front of Merlin's dress is a deep pink, having being splashed during the wine's descent, and he's on the floor, trying to mop the mess with the first piece of cloth he could find.

Arthur's formerly cream shirt. It is now red and Arthur knows the fine gold embroidery will be stained forever. He had planned on wearing it to the feast of Imbolic in a few days time, though it is beyond saving now. Merlin drops it with a wet squelch into the puddle of wine still on the floor, having just realised his mistake.

Arthur clenches his fist as he feels every bit of kindness for Merlin slip away.

'Get out!" He hollers as Merlin retrieves the sodden shirt from the floor, holding it at arms length. "Leave it, just get out!" He throws his goblet at the wall, making a satisfying crash as it connects. Arthur feels better at that and proceeds to follow it with most of his dinner and his plate. In the flurry or thrown items Merlin has disappeared with his shirt which is a shame since there's still wine all over the floor and Arthur has no desire to clean it.

He settles for behaving rather childishly indeed and throwing his dirty clothes in a heap on top of the puddle, leaving them for Merlin to find. Let him scrub a few extra stains out, the useless bumbling idiot.


	8. Under the Endless Sky

The kiss is slow and lingering, neither wanting for more, afraid of pushing the other too far. It's too new, too fresh, too much to risk.

Guinevere gives a sigh of pleasure as he pulls away, dark eyes fluttering open, unfocused for a moment as she absorbs her surroundings. Her house, yes. The table and the bed and the door. All familiar and comforting. Lancelot.

"Oh" She breathes, drinking in the sight of him, and something warm flares inside her, tingling through her fingers and toes. He is perfect, more than perfect, more than she deserves. His eyes are searching hers, curious.

"Guinevere?" He asks softly, warm hands skitter against her sides. Her breath is ragged, heart racing. A strange sensation builds inside her and Gwen wonders at it, unfamiliar and lovely all in the same moment. She can feel the warmth of his body, so close to hers and she shivers with pleasure, recognising the heat threatening to overwhelm her own body. _Need._

She pushes against him then, catches his mouth on hers, no longer gentle but desperate, pushing, pressing their bodies close as if she might melt into him. Lancelot's hands are at her bodice, half pull and half push, fingers like brands as they dance across the skin of her shoulder, down the warm curve of her collarbone.

A whine of protest breaks from her throat as he pushes her away, gently but firmly, and the hot flush of embarrassment works its way over her. She's never behaved this way before, never lost so much control of herself. She knows the look of a man, the sounds of pleasure between kisses, the musky scent on their skin after a days training, even the salty-sweet taste of their mouths. But not the touch. She has never felt skin against skin, never given herself to another. She does not intend to begin today.

Oh, but she would give herself to Lancelot, she knows this. It would be easy, as easy as breathing. She loves Arthur, more than she thought it were possible to love any man, more than is appropriate to do so. She may love him as the people love him, as their prince and one day their king, no more and no less. But even so, even despite the love for Arthur that threatens to overwhelm, it pales against what she feels for Lancelot. The memory of Arthur's kisses are dull and colourless compared to the bright warmth of the man before her, the man whom she may kiss in broad daylight if she so desires. A knight he may be, but he will court whom he wishes, nobility be damned.

So when he asks for her colours to wear to the feast, she gives them. It's the same cloth she gave Arthur once, to wear during the joust, and she knows he will recognise it immediately. She suspects part of her wants him to, but it is not out of bitterness or hurt. It is compassion. If her heart is free to love another, then so too should his.

* * *

Arthur has always enjoyed the feast of Imbolc. The beginning of spring is a joyous time, the first green shoots pushing from the cold earth. Winter is at it's end, and Arthur is thankful for the approach of summer.

They drink milk instead of wine this night, served warm and creamy from pitchers and eaten with bread and butter. Later there will be the usual fare, and they will eat heartily, but for now tradition must be followed.

Arthur is unusually impressed at the fine job Merlin has done cleaning his tunic. There is not a trace of the wine that stained it, and he suspects there may have been magic involved, but for his sanity and Merlin's well-being he chooses not to think about it terribly much. Many of the nobles have also dressed in white tonight, a symbol of the new beginnings of the season, pure and virginal. The knights have bright splashes of cloth wound around their arms, the colours of their ladies. This too is tradition, though Arthur never wears any colours, and will not do so until he has married and his wife's colours may adorn his arm. Uther wears Igraine's colours, as he has done every year, a silent reminder of the queen whose death came so soon after this celebration of life.

Lancelot has a pale piece of cloth wound around his arm, barely visible against his tunic but for the material slightly bunched around it. Arthur thinks nothing of this at first, until he notices Gwen's lingering gaze across the room, the smile pulling at the corner of her lips, and he realises he knows that piece of cloth, rode many moons ago with it pressed against his heart.

His jealousy is white hot, his vision hazy, the feast a colourful roar of noise around him but nothing more. He pushes away from the table, storming angrily from the hall. He does not see Merlin watching his every move from across the room, does not see his face contort in sadness as he leaves. He cannot see how Merlin aches, and he cannot know it is all for him.

* * *

Arthur does not have to wait long.

"I'm sorry" Gwen says softly, and he pulls her into his embrace, kisses her with all the love and passion he can muster. He feels her surrender, the moment as her lips part and she sighs against his mouth. The corridor is dark and empty but for the two of them, and Arthur is glad for it as he wraps his arms around her waist, and savours the sweetness of her mouth. Too soon she pulls away, her cheeks flushed with colour and it feels like the end of something more.

"Please Arthur" She says softly, her eyes meeting his "_Please_" And he hears the words she doesn't add, _don't fight for me_.

"Why?" He asks because there's nothing else and he needs to know, even if it hurts, even if it breaks his heart beyond mending. Gwen's face fills with sadness.

"Because I love him more" It's like a punch to the gut and Arthur very nearly doubles over with the pain of it. He finds to his surprise, that a very small part of him is grateful for her answer, not to have been fed some sweetened nonsense to spare his feelings. It is an odd relief in a sea of pain.

"Will he make you happy?"

"Yes" The smile that lights up Gwen's face is at once beautiful and heartbreaking, and Arthur has lost the battle without even knowing he was fighting it.

"My lord" Gwen says quietly, bowing her head and the moment is gone. She is just a serving girl and he is the prince.

"Tell- tell Merlin I'll be in my chambers" Arthur says without looking at her, turning on his heel to flee the sweet sadness of her face. He wants her to be happy, really he does, and when Lancelot asks for her hand (and he will, Arthur will make sure of that) he will give them his blessing. When they are married he will ensure Gwen has the finest of dresses to wear, and Lancelot has a bright new tunic. When they have sweet, fat babies Arthur will take them on his knee and tell them they have the prettiest mother in all the land and their father is the noblest of knights, and If he feels any pain at all, he will not let it show, for he wants Gwen's happiness more than anything.

Arthur knows, however much is hurts, that Lancelot will love her more than he ever could.

* * *

Arthur is surprised indeed to find Merlin waiting for him in his chambers, scrubbing furiously at the dark stain on the stone floor. Arthur supposes he did take a long time to make his way back, had wandered the castle corridors for an age lost in his thoughts. He feels at peace now, though the ache of heartbreak is still strong and painful as it was in that first moment, he does not shy from it. Better to feel all the hurts of the world than to become like his father and feel nothing at all.

"Merlin" He says quietly and Merlin jumps in shock, dropping the wet brush on the stones. His eyes are wide, bluest of blues and Arthur wonders if they were always that colour or if the candle light is playing tricks on him.

"Leave that" He says, failing to suppress a laugh as Merlin carelessly tosses the brush into the bucket at his side, causing water to splash onto the floor. It reminds him that Merlin is still Merlin, underneath the dress and the curves and the sweet blush rising on his cheeks under Arthur's gaze, he's still the useless manservant he always was. It makes Arthur strangely happy, even despite the ache of his chest.

The warm scent of soap swirls around Arthur as Merlin moves to find his leggings, looking a little worse for wear at the end of this long cold winter. His movements are smooth, more fluid than they once were, though it is perhaps just the long skirts disguising the worst of Merlin's clumsiness. Almost on cue, Merlin stumbles, catching himself against the door of the cupboard, and Arthur can't help but give a snort of amusement at that which earns him a scowl and a sigh of exasperation from Merlin.

Merlin's face is illuminated on one side by the fire, eyelashes casting shadows across his cheeks as he slowly rights himself, darkness melting into the pale cream of his skin. Arthur's heart aches with want, for warm curves and soft lips and Merlin is so very lovely that it is easy, too easy, to cross the room and press him against the cold stones of the wall.

Merlin's yelp of surprise is lost in Arthur's mouth, and for a moment he stiffens, palms flat against Arthur's chest in a display of resistance. Contrary to popular belief, Arthur does not actually demand the compliance of whomever he expresses a likeness towards, and he has no intention of making Merlin more uncomfortable than he clearly already is, until he feels Merlin's long fingers curl into the front of his tunic, and the lips against his turn warm and pliant.

Merlin likes it. If the whimper that breaks from his throat as Arthur licks his way into that sweet warm mouth is anything to go by, he likes it _a lot_. Which makes it all the more confusing when he suddenly pushes Arthur forcefully away, cheeks red and pupils blown wide.

"No" Merlin's voice is steady and calm and filled with the kind of authority Arthur knows he will never have. He knows that until Merlin gives his full consent, he cannot, _will not _touch him.

"Ale, my lord?" And just like that Merlin slips into himself again, and the ache of loss and want seeps back into Arthur's chest. There is something veiled in Merlin's eyes but Arthur cannot see it, and he finds himself too lost in his own misery and pain to particularly care.

* * *

_A/N: No hating me! Merlin is too good to be a rebound, and Arthur has to get over Gwen properly before he gets it, but it won't take him too long, I promise :)_


	9. Between the Shadows

_Warning: This chapter touches on body dysmorphia, eating disorders and depression.  
_

* * *

It is of course inevitable that Merlin will eventually tell someone. He's surprised as anyone when his confessor turns out to be Lancelot, but there's a lot to be said for a kind word and a smile, especially when one is struggling with their sense of self and decidedly unrequited love for unattainable princes.

Which is how he ends up spilling the news of one unfortunate late night kiss with aforementioned prince and his inability to think about anything else for the month following.

"_He_ kissed _you_ did he not?" Lancelot is infuriatingly optimistic about the whole affair. He barely seems to notice Merlin's altered appearance, and indeed only acknowledges any difference at all when forced to.

"He only kissed me because I'm a _bloody girl!_ What interest is he going to have when the curse breaks and I'm me again?" Lancelot smiles kindly at this outburst and pats Merlin's shoulder in much the same way as he does the knights when they've had a particularly intense training session. Merlin does his best to suppress his shudder of revulsion.

"Do not think so little of yourself. You're a good friend to Arthur"

"He knows about my magic... He doesn't trust me. I am no friend of his, just a servant" Merlin can hear the tone of defeat in his voice, because this, _this _is the real reason he cannot believe Arthur truly has feelings for him. How could he love what he has always been taught to hate and fear?

An odd expression passes over Lancelot's face.

"Then show him there is nothing to fear" Merlin recognises the hope beneath his obvious discomfort. If someone should hear such talk, the king would surely have them executed. Lancelot gives him another hearty thump upon the shoulder before he leaves and Merlin watches his figure disappear down the empty corridor. His stomach rumbles and he his mouth tastes bitter. Merlin ignores it.

* * *

"All is mended" The dragon says with a toothy grin the moment he arrives in the underground chamber, and Merlin wants to scream that _no, no it isn't _because he's still a girl and showing no signs of returning to his old body anytime soon. He settles on the fiercest scowl he can manage, which unfortunately only serves to send the dragon into absolute fits of laughter.

"Destiny is not easily rewritten. All is as it should be" Merlin feels a headache coming on and rubs once temple in annoyance.

"Let me get this straight, you called me down here to tell me _everything's fine_?" His voice takes on an oddly high pitch with the last words.

"Patience young warlock. Your destiny and Arthur's are one and the same, I have told you many times. What you must remember is _not to fight_ _it_" The dragon's words roll around his head and Merlin wonders just quietly if they mean what he thinks they might mean, and what exactly he should do if so. He has no chance to ask however, as the dragon has already flown away to lurk in some dark corner of the cave.

* * *

Arthur has been watching. It isn't so difficult to go unnoticed, not when he knows the castle as well as he does, and Merlin generally sticks to the less inhabited areas which makes the whole exercise easier than anticipated. Arthur is not a simpleton, no matter what Merlin might say, and he has not failed to notice his manservant's increasingly distant behaviour. He knows he must be at least partly to blame, what with that damned kiss, and oh does he wish he could take it back, that Merlin would smile at him again, instead of staring at him like an insect to be squashed. Of course he had wanted to kiss Merlin, and the desire is still very much present, but he senses he crossed some invisible line, and Merlin has retreated in on himself. Everything is broken, and Arthur should be able to fix it. What use is a prince if he can't even do that?

And so, he watches.

Mostly Merlin doesn't give himself away, he works hard and nods and smiles with the other servants, and when he laughs it's warm and lovely. Sometimes he slips.

The facade melts away and Arthur can see how Merlin hurts, when he catches his own reflection, the way his face twists in to something ugly. It takes a while to place the expression, to recognise the emotion lingering beneath the surface. It is on the third day of covert watching that Arthur recognises it. Revulsion. Merlin hates what he is, hates everything about himself and he's a better actor than Arthur has ever given him credit for, to be so utterly disgusted by himself and never show it.

It makes Arthur's chest ache, and he is sickened by himself, the way he has been the cause of this, without ever intending to. He saw Merlin cry didn't he? He had held him in his arms even, and still he hadn't noticed, hadn't seen how Merlin hated himself. He can't remember the last time he's seen food pass Merlin's lips, nor a morning when he didn't have dark circles beneath his eyes, and why hasn't he noticed this sooner?

Arthur is used to disappointing his father, but he is not used to feeling like he has so utterly failed anyone else.

* * *

Morgana has lived in Camelot half her life, but she cannot remember a time when Arthur has so honestly sought her advice. He asks her opinion often, but it is usually dismissed, the way one would that of a bratty younger sibling.

Today is different, today Arthur looks pale and haggard, his face drawn and miserable. He is quiet for a very long time.

"I need help" His voice is low and rasping, and Morgana wonders if he's been crying, and what could cause Arthur such distress that he would shed tears.

"Merlin's- I don't know what to do, I don't know how to make him better-" He stops short with a strangled sound that might be a sob, but a very well disguised one if it is. Morgana has never seen Arthur so distressed, not since they were children and he had cried for his mother, and later denied it, and Morgana hadn't teased him because she too missed her mother, and too soon her father as well.

So she does the first thing that springs to mind and she hugs him, and murmurs softly until he is sufficiently calmed again. He doesn't cry, though she suspects it is a close thing, and her heart aches for him.

"What do I do Morgana?" She thinks about Merlin, about the pain he must be feeling and how desperate Arthur is to help him, and the answer is simple.

"You have to remind him who he is, that you still see him. He cares what you think Arthur, he'd never admit it, but your opinion means more to him than anyone's" Arthur scoffs.

"He doesn't care what I think, except when I'm extraordinarily stupid and drunk and molest him" He groans and drops his head into his hands.

"He was afraid to show his magic, he thought you'd hate him" Arthur's head snaps up, his head a perfect 'o' of surprise.

"He told you-?" Morgana blushes and looks guilty.

"I forced him into it, once I knew. I threatened to tell Uther, he never had a choice" She shakes her head, suddenly feeling guilty for the action, for she can't know how much it contributed to Merlin's self loathing, and she can't forgive herself if she caused him such anguish.

"What do I do?" Arthur says hopelessly, and Morgana wonders what it must seem like to Merlin, as if he is being used for his body, that Arthur doesn't love him for what he is but what he appears to be. She can't begin to imagine how awful such thoughts would be, how they would eat away at a person until all was left was bitterness and hurt.

"Do you love him?" She says softly, and Arthur sighs softly and meets her gaze, his eyes bright.

'Yes" He says firmly, and she knows he's telling the truth, however hard it may have been to admit it to himself.

"Then love him".

* * *

Merlin stares at the piece of bread contemptuously. His stomach rumbles, traitorous, and he very nearly gives in and eats, but the thought of losing one of the last threads of control stops him. Merlin has never been a self-destructive person, his body rebels against being starved and deprived, and he fights back against it, his mind refusing to give into the needs of his body.

The sun dips below the horizon, and Merlin listens as wind thrashes against the windows. It's been weeks now, the winds, sometimes bringing icy rain to beat against the castle walls, sometimes buffeting the knights sideways as they practice, sometimes blowing softer still, stirring the leaves straw across the courtyard, but never ceasing completely. Merlin misses the sunshine, misses the warmth of summer, misses splashing in the streams around Camelot and trudging home soaked to the bone and shivering, but happy. Merlin misses happiness.

"There's someone here to see you Merlin" Gaius' voice drifts up the stairs and Merlin sighs. Gwen visits most nights, all happiness and glowing and _engaged _and Merlin smiles and giggles with her and agrees that yes, she is the luckiest girl in all the world, but he's tired of her relentless enthusiasm. He trudges down the stairs and stops dead at the sight of Arthur, looking somewhat sheepish, his cheeks flushed pink.

"Er, hello?" He says quietly, and Merlin can't help but smile a little, because he saw Arthur an hour ago, and teased him about the state of his chambers, and this should really not be as awkward as it plainly is. Arthur seems bolstered by Merlin's reaction and smiles back.

"I have something for you" He says, and Merlin notices the bag he's holding.

"Oh please, not more chores" He groans, and Arthur laughs.

"No, but you'll have to come with me if you want to find out what it is" And he's out the door like a flash, leaving Merlin utterly confused.

"Well go on!" Gaius says, a little impatiently Merlin thinks, but he smiles like he knows a secret Merlin isn't privy to just yet, and he decides following Arthur is better than longer spent torturing himself and chases him out the door.

He catches up with Arthur in his chambers -which are still a mess of course- and wonders just what exactly the prince is up to. Arthur puts down the bag of the table and grins at Merlin.

"You don't have a mirror. Or at least, not the sort we might need" he pulls a piece of linen from the bag and looks at it awkwardly.

"There are some people who are born feeling wrong, like the wrong body. Men who want to be women, and women-"

"Who want to be men" Merlin finishes, wondering where exactly Arthur might be going with this.

"Exactly. There isn't anything to be done for them, not really, but there's things they can do, to feel more, more..." He trails off, unable to find the right word and avoid sounding cruel or pitying.

"Like themselves?" Merlin asks and Arthur nods gratefully.

"Yes, like themselves. I asked Gaius, and he said you might, you might appreciate feeling more like yourself too" A peculiar expression works its way across Arthur's face as he moves forward, hands outstretched, the fresh white linen folded neatly in them.

"Women, they-" He pauses for a moment clearly uncomfortable, and then surges onwards, "They sometimes use strips of linen to bind their chest, so it looks more masculine" Something warm stirs in Merlin's stomach, as Arthur looks stares awkwardly at his handfuls of cloth.

"I had it woven specially" He says, and Merlin feels himself smiling, the warm feeling spreading through his body.

"Thank you" He says softly, not sure exactly where this unexpected act of kindness has come from. He takes the linen, it's cool soft weight sliding against his hands. Arthur turns back to the table, it seems he has more to show.

Merlin gasps in surprise when he turns back with a pair of scissors in hand. Arthur quickly lowers then, his other hand up in a gesture that suggests he means no harm.

"I thought you might like to cut your hair" He says, words flowing out in one long stream. Merlin nods, still unsure of Arthur's intentions.

"I had these made too" Arthur puts down the scissors (thankfully) and pulls more cloth from the bag, clothing, as far as Merlin can tell. Shirts in blue and red, and a pair of dark breeches.

"They're made to look like men's clothing, but they'll fit you better while you're..." He doesn't finish the sentence, but Merlin understands the meaning.

"Why are you doing this?" He asks and Arthur shrugs.

"I don't want you to hate yourself anymore" His voice is very quiet, and sadder than Merlin expected, and he can't help but wonder when Arthur even found the time to notice. "I wanted to see you smile again" Arthur swallows thickly and Merlin sees his eyes shine in the candlelight.

"Thank you" he says again and holds up the linen. "Um, how do I get this on exactly?" Arthur brightens immediately.

"I asked Gaius, and he showed me how" He steps forward and then stops. "Do you want me to show you? Only, you'll have to get undressed..." He suddenly looks as uncomfortable and Merlin remedies the situation by unlacing his bodice. He removes the dress too, for good measure, and stands, shivering slightly, in his under things.

"You need to put your arms up" Arthur says, and Merlin does so immediately. He finds he doesn't mind Arthur touching him quite so much as other people, a curious thought he decided to consider more later.

Arthur is gentle as he winds the linen around Merlin's chest. It's a single long swathe of material, tight enough to flatten his chest but not so restricting that he cannot breathe comfortably. There are pins that Arthur struggles to push through the layers of linen and Merlin eventually takes them and does so himself, securing the binding in place. He allows himself a wistful look at the clothing laid on the table and Arthur follows his gaze and grins.

"You can try them on" He says, and ushers Merlin behind the screen usually reserved for his own use. The breeches are soft and fit loosely around his legs, the shirt a rich blue and the correct width for his smaller shoulders, far softer than his old scratchy shirts. He's annoyed at his under things hanging down to his knees over the breeches and Arthur lets out a snort and then picks up the scissors.

"We can fix that" he cuts roughly around Merlin's waist, the excess material falling away and Merlin hurriedly tucking the ragged edge under his shirt.

"You might have to sew it up a little better" Arthur says, but he's looking at Merlin with a smile and holds up the scissors again.

"Your hair?" Merlin looks at the thick bunches against his shoulders. he hates it, hates looking after it, hates the heat and weight of it, hates the way it has to be brushed and combed and tied back every morning.

"Yeah" He grins and scoops his hair into a handful, revelling in the sensation as it falls away in his hand. He's slightly worried when Arthur continues to cut, and he can feel the scissors against his scalp, but the less hair the better, and as long as he doesn't look like he's been shorn, he doesn't mind.

Finally, the last dark curl falls away and Arthur puts the scissors down.

"Gwen can probably make it look a bit better" He says, and then looks nervous again.

"Do you want to see?" He says, and Merlin is surprised that he offers his hand. More surprising is that Merlin takes it without a second thought. Arthur's mirror is long and thin, and Merlin has grown used to Arthur admiring himself in it.

Now, looking at himself reflected in the glass, his hand still held in Arthur's, warm calluses rubbing against his palm, he feels like he's greeting an old friend. It isn't perfect of course, he still looks slightly too feminine to get away with it entirely, but it's close enough that he looks like _himself _for the first time in a very long time indeed.

For the first few minutes all he can do is stare. Arthur has done him a great kindness, all out of an apparent desire to see him smile, and it seems that wish has been granted for all Merlin can do is smile.

"Thank you" He says, over and over, until the words sound nonsensical to his ears, and Arthur looks at him and smiles too, warm and bright, and his hand squeezes Merlin's tightly.

"Will you be happy?" He says quietly. "Will you be happy now?" Merlin tears his gaze from his own reflection, looks at Arthur proper and sees the worry creased in his brow. Merlin realises what he's been missing all along, that Arthur can- and does- love him despite what he may look like, or his magic, or how much he currently loathe himself. A small weight feels lifted, though Merlin knows he will never be truly comfortable with this body, that he will always fight that voice in his head that tells him he's wrong, until the day he has his true body back, and perhaps even beyond that.

'Yes" He says, and before Arthur can reply, stands on his tip toes to kiss him softly. Arthur looks dazed as he pulls back, his eyes unfocussed and lips parted as he slowly exhales.

"You don't have a way to make me taller do you?" Merlin says, not letting Arthur's mind linger too long. The prince blinks and laughs.

"Don't get greedy" He says, and Merlin laughs too, and for the first time in a month he feels really, truly happy.

* * *

_Eep, hope that wasn't too heavy for you all. Poor Merlin is in a dark place, but he'll lighten up in the next few chapters, I promise._

_Thanks all of you who are still reading, I hope to update a little faster next time :)_


	10. The Light of Hidden Flowers

_A.N: Oh look, an update! Hopefully it won't take so long for the next one, and there looks to be some slight smuttiness in it, for all of you who've been waiting not-so-patiently for it!_

* * *

Arthur likes secrecy. For obvious reasons, Merlin knows. Uther has rules about his sons dalliances. Sex is permitted. Love is not.

Arthur steals kisses in hallways, some quick and bruising, others soft and sweet, tinged with the taste of apples fresh picked from the orchard. They don't talk about it, never talk about it. Merlin doesn't ask _"Why are we doing this?" _and Arthur doesn't answer _"Because I love you, you idiot" _and mostly things are the same, except that they aren't at all.

Gwen is away, gone with her husband to the eastern borders, and her letters are few and far between, though Merlin treasures the arrival of each one. _I hope you and Arthur find yourselves well _she writes and Merlin's heart beats an odd little staccato, uncertain of his reply.

_(I am well. Arthur is... whatever Arthur is.)_

Spring stretches out towards summer and it is during one warm afternoon that Merlin first feels it. A tingle, an itch, thrumming beneath his skin. It's unfamiliar, pleasant almost, for in these brief moments Merlin feels more like himself than he has for a very long while.

* * *

"You're quiet today" Arthur says, wine in hand. Merlin smiles, continues polishing the pile of armour so recently dumped in front of him. His fingers ache, they're to thin and soft for this kind of work, and if he's slightly resentful towards Arthur for that, he's not showing it.

"Come here a minute?" Arthur's voice is low and soft, smooth with wine, and like an arse, Merlin listens. Arthur has never kissed him in his chambers before, there has been from the moment they became whatever it is they are, an invisible line at the door that neither have dared to cross.

Arthur's eyes are glazed with wine, and Merlin finds himself thinking _oh to hell with it _and kisses the taste of wine from the prince's mouth. Arthur is terribly still for a moment, but then his hands are reaching and Merlin falls ungracefully into his lap.

"Hello" He says, for want of anything better to say, because what exactly does one say in a prince's lap? Arthur's eyes are wide, and Merlin can feel his heartbeat beneath his fingertips, and his hands on the warm curve of his waist. The wine is sweet on his tongue, and underneath that Arthur is all his own taste and Merlin seeks it out hungrily, humming his pleasure against Arthur's lips.

_No no no no no! _Acid rises in Merlin's throat, the hand cupped around his arse stroking gently and it needs to stop, has to stop. Merlin's entire being is narrowed to that one soft movement and he's suddenly twisting away, fingers scrabbling against skin as he struggles against the arms that try to hold him still.

"What the hell-?" Arthur hisses as Merlin finally breaks free, leaving several long deep scratches up his inner arm. It stings like an absolute bitch, and Merlin is skittering across the floor like a spider, horrible broken sounds tearing from his throat.

"What the hell?" Arthur says again, and Merlin is backed up against the door, shuddering and gasping for breath. He's looking at Arthur with an expression like a kicked puppy, which is why it's such a damn surprise when he whimpers and starts muttering _sorry sorry sorry _over and over again.

"What was that?" Arthur breathes, and he doesn't dare move any closer, not with Merlin behaving like some deranged creature who might be perfectly willing to give his other arm matching scratches.

"_You touched me_" Merlin grinds out, his arms wrapping around himself tightly, like the room is too cold, despite the fire crackling in the grate.

"Well, yes, I thought you'd like it-" Arthur begins and Merlin is shaking his head furiously.

"You can't touch me,not like that" His voice is calmer at least, Arthur counts that as a positive, even if he does have a near hysterical girl curled against his door, who's really a boy and clearly not as okay with that as he might have led people to believe.

"I thought- You didn't mind the other things" It sounds ridiculous, even to him, his uncertain voice.

"You can kiss me" Merlin says quietly, "You can't _touch _me"

"I thought it was better, I thought _you _were better-" Arthur regrets the words as soon as he says them, and he doesn't like the look in Merlin's eyes, nor the absolute fury twisting over his features. The sparks of magic crackling from his fingertips aren't exactly comforting either.

"_Better?_" Merlin is off the floor, stalking across the room like a wild animal, and Arthur finds himself retreating back against the windows until he can go no further and Merlin has him cornered.

"You think you can cut my hair and give me some new clothes and everything will be better? You think you can just pretend like everything is normal and it will be?" He's shaking with fury, and the next words out of his mouth hurt more than any of the previous. "You make me hate you"

Arthur thinks Merlin might be about to hit him, he certainly looks angry enough, his whole body is practically vibrating, but then he jumps suddenly and gives a cry like a wounded animal.

"Son of a-" The curse sounds all wrong to Arthur's ears. It's too soft, too pretty and not at all Merlin. Merlin, who is currently staring at his hand, wincing.

"I guess we _have _to get along then" He says with annoyance and shows Arthur his palm. It's red and shiny, something like a burn, and Merlin hisses when he straightens his fingers.

"What exactly is this? And don't say magic" Merlin grins with a kind of sadistic pleasure at this and then responds-

"Magic"

"You got so angry you burnt yourself?" An odd expression ripples across Merlin's face, his lips twisting, fighting back the inevitable smile, and the burble of laughter that escapes is like a breath of fresh air.

"Of course not, you absolute berk" And Merlin is gone, giggling helplessly, falling against Arthur, who wonders exactly what possessed him to fall in helpless love with someone so completely mental.

"It's this horrid bloody curse, I can't hurt you. I can't even think about hurting you, not when it's supposed to make you love me"

"What?" Arthur finds he intensely dislikes the thought that he might be bewitched into loving Merlin, and opens his mouth to say so, but Merlin stops him with a smile.

"You're not bewitched Arthur. But what were the chances of you fancying me as a man? I had to be a woman to have any chance of attracting you" He sighs. "Which I suppose means if this ever wears off you won't be interested anymore"

Arthur doesn't know how to respond, he settles on the first, most ridiculous thought that pops into his head.

"Will you still feel the same when you change back?" What he actually wants to ask is _will you still love me? _but he doesn't know that Merlin _does _love him at all, only that he seems to like being kissed and doesn't like being touched, and he doesn't know how much of that is Merlin and how much is the magic binding him to this body.

Merlin's face is very soft now and he strokes Arthur's cheek with his non-burnt hand.

"Oh Arthur" He sighs "I've been stupid in love with you since we met. I want to be clear on this, so even your silly little prince's brain can understand: you won't be rid of me so easily"

Arthur's vision goes swimmy for a moment, but when it clears Merlin is still looking at him with warm eyes and a sad smile. Arthur recognises that they are in dangerous territory here, walking a knife edge that sooner or later has to give. He rather hopes it tips in his favour, fate could not be so impossibly cruel as to give him such a brief taste of something so lovely and then snatch it away.

"You're lovely" Arthur says, and immediately feels stupid, because of course that should have been when he confessed his undying love and he's gone and cocked everything up, _again_. Merlin blushes and looks away for a moment, his fingers curling into the hem of his shirt.

"I don't know who I am anymore" Merlin says, and Arthur pulls his chin up to see his eyes, blue against blue.

"You're brave and stupid and kind and reckless, and you're magic. You're the worst manservant I have ever had, and also the best, and when I'm king you'll make me good, and if I'm very, very lucky you'll let me love you too"

Merlin kisses like he's drowning.

* * *

So life goes on, and Merlin tries to ignore the lovely tingle that keeps rippling beneath his skin, because it's too wonderful, too impossible to hope that it might mean what he thinks it means. He finds himself daydreaming about his body, his _real _body, with all it's awkward angles and ears that stick out too far, and he wonders if Arthur daydreams about it too.

"When you change back-" Arthur breathes in his ear one night, "-I'm never going to let you out of my bed" Merlin laughs at this, because he can feel what his presence in Arthur's lap is doing to the prince and he knows that the moment he changes back it will be he dragging Arthur to bed and making up for this unusual form of torture.

"Let's hope this curse breaks soon then"

"Midsummer" Arthur murmurs between kisses, and Merlin freezes, every nerve ending suddenly on fire.

"What?" Arthur looks at him with half-lidded eyes and says again:

"Midsummer"

_Midsummer. _Merlin decides not to question Arthur's conviction in this date, decides not to argue or tell him not to pin his hopes on such an arbitrary date. Instead he lets a small part of him swell with hope and lets Arthur kiss him until both their mouths are swollen and sore.

Somehow, midsummer feels just right to Merlin.


End file.
